


The Scourge Sisters Descend

by TinyAngryPuppy



Series: INDIESTUCK [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, Music, Musicians
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-10
Updated: 2012-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-27 04:16:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyAngryPuppy/pseuds/TinyAngryPuppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a story of love, and a story of ass-kicking.<br/>A story of believing in your dreams and not taking no shit from nobody.<br/>This is the story of the greatest rock band the world has ever known.<br/>This is the story of The Scourge Sisters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Ugh! What a load of _buuuuuuuullshit_!” moaned Vriska from the other room, stealing Terezi’s attention away from the half-frozen bucket of cookie dough she was unevenly dolling onto a sheet. “What _moron_ wrote this?”

“What is it, babe?” called Terezi though a mouthful of raw dough and chocolate chips.

“It’s this stupid article on Doublefork! You know, that snooty hipster douchebag music site? It’s about the best new Troll bands or whatever, and they’re all loooooooosers! And worst of all, we’re not on it!”

“Why would be be on it? No one even knows we exist,” replied Terezi, rinsing the ice cream scoop in a cloudy cup of water she’d requisitioned especially for this purpose.

Vriska’s lanky form emerged from the bedroom, the sole other room of the one-bedroom apartment, clad only in a soiled wife-beater and a pair of red panties. “I don’t need that kind of negativity from you, sis,” she said, running a claw through her long snarls of black hair. “We’re supposed to be a team!”

Terezi looked over at her and her eyes widened. “What the hell! Those are my underwear!”

Vriska looked down absently. “Oh. Well, all of mine were dirty.”

“Those were dirty too! I wore them yesterday! You must have pulled them out of the hamper!”

“Well do you even want them back, now that my _butt’s_ been in ‘em?” smirked Vriska, leaning against the doorframe cockily.

Terezi frowned at her and narrowed her eyes. She could _count_ every one of her roommate/bandmate/matesprit’s ribs right through the stained undershirt, and for that matter the way the thin fabric curved around the rest of her lean body was just as appetizing as the unbaked lumps before her on the counter. Almost. Her expression softened and she smiled slyly. “It should be illegal how good you look right now.”

“Ooh, you gonna take me in, officer?” said Vriska, eyebrows raising.

“Mmmmaybe,” replied Terezi. “After cookies.” 

The taller girl walked over to her and scooped up a bit of dough with her finger. “So, what’re we doing tonight?”

“We’ve got an open mic at Beanmotifs, remember? Eight o’clock!”

Vriska smacked her forehead. “Shit, I forgot! God, what time is it, I’ve gotta warm up, I’ve gotta get dressed--”

“Babe, it’s like two in the afternoon. Relax. Go put some pants on, and then you can help me with these cookies.”

“How about instead…” intoned Vriska, sidling up behind the other girl, “I do everything I can to get in your way?” Taking a chocolate chip from the counter, she placed it on the bare curve of Terezi’s fine neck, then leaned down and plucked it off with her mouth, swirling her tongue on the smooth gray skin. 

“Ngh-- stoppit, Vriska, I’m trying to bake!” protested Terezi, batting her away with a rubber spatula and grinning despite herself. “What’s even with you today?”

“Nothing, just bored,” replied Vriska, bouncing the B off her soft palette with relish. 

“Well go be bored and sexy somewhere else, not even your butt in my panties is gonna keep me from finishing these cookies.” With a fixed glare and a final _pap_ of her spatula on Vriska’s forehead, Terezi turned back to her project. Vriska shuffled back into the bedroom, scratching her shapely posterior. After a few moments of silence-- Terezi’s copy of _White Blood Cells_ had finished playing-- she began to hum to herself.

Vriska poked her head through the doorway. “Is that a new song? Oooh, let me hear it!” She’d gotten rid of the wife beater and was trying to wrestle a raglan T on without tearing it on her horns, but the shirt was currently winning. 

“Sure. I’m kinda writing an epic fantasy thing-- knights and dragons, you know,” called Terezi. “Still very tentative.”

“What? Dragons? _Booooooooring!_ No one wants to hear that shit!” crooned the other girl.

Terezi put down her scoop and turned to face Vriska, hands on her bony hips. “Zeppelin did it. Do you want to hear it or not?”

“Sure. But I maintain the right to laugh at you.”

“At the risk of a pun, for you that right is _inalienable_. ‘K, here goes.”

She began to hum a slow ballad, tapping the countertop with a slender gray digit to keep time. After a few bars, she began to sing. 

“ _In the cleft of her bosom his pendant she kept_

_and wishing for him in the darkness she wept_

_but alas her one true love had gone off to war_

_and ‘tween campaign of combat he too longed for her_  


 

  
_“As winter frost thawed and new growth creeped in_   


_and the dearth of birdsong swelled to a din_

_each sunrise she prayed she would see him returning_

_and each lonesome sunset just fostered her yearning_  


 

  
_“One morning in May through the window she spied_   


_her champion’s colors hoist skyward outside_

_but ‘twas not her true love returned from afar_

_but his page-boy, with numerous bloodstain and scar_

  


  
_“‘What of my husband, brave page, have you word?’_   


_she asked, her composure in total discord_

_‘My lady, I wish that it weren’t this way--_

_your husband is errant, a beast for to slay_  


 

  
_“On many a hero the dragon has dined_   


_at but a glance he will render you blind_

_blood red are his eyes and bone white are his scales_

_Pyralspite is his name and from nightmares he hails.”_  


Terezi stopped singing, and looked expectantly at Vriska. “Well, what do you think?”

“That’s it? I wanted to know what would happen!” cried Vriska. “Does he kill the dragon? Does he get to come home to his hot wife?”

“That’s all I’ve got so far, sorry!” said Terezi, picking up her scoop and setting about the last few cookies, before sliding the tay into the small oven. “It’s a work in progress.”

“Well… I like it, More than I thought I would. But it needs something. It needs to be sexier!”

“You say that every time I try to write a song not explicitly about sex!” 

“Not true! But anyway, let me know if you put in a fight or a sex scene.” And with that, she retreated once more into the bedroom.

Terezi finished cleaning up and crossed to the carpeted section of the combination kitchen/living room/dining room. She only used two words to appraise music equipment: _shitty_ or _sweet_. It tended to be that things which were cheap even when you bought the best kind were the only _sweet_ parts of her setup. This kept things simple. Her _shitty_ drum kit was set up in one corner, beside her _sweet_ keyboard stand which was currently vacant-- her _shitty_ MIDI keyboard was currently hooked up to her _shitty_ desktop computer, on which she liked to use _shitty_ free recording software to make _sweet_ music. She launched herself ass-first onto her _shitty_ throne and grabbed the _sweet_ sticks from their resting place on the _shitty_ bass drum. 

She began to click out a rhythm on the rim of her snare, which after a couple measures took the form of [_someday_ by The Strokes](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=knU9gRUWCno&ob=av2e), and with a rapid-fire snare roll she moved it onto the drums proper. Soon she was lost in the beat, pounding away with a toothy grin. When she got a good groove going, the problems of the world just drifted away. No more rent, no more annoying neighbors (let ‘em complain about the noise!), no work ‘till tomorrow. The cookies still needed another ten minutes.

Vriska’s pointy horns preceded her around the doorframe as she walked over to her guitar stand, on which her somewhat-thrashed-but-still- _sweet_ blue Gibson Les Paul. She had dubbed the poor instrument “Pussy Warhead” after she stole it from a Guitar Center where she’d worked in Cincinnati, and she treated it accordingly like something she’d spent no money on. Sliding the spiderweb-pattered strap over her shoulder, she chose a pick from a cigar box on the nearby bookcase. Bobbing her head in time with Terezi’s slick beats, she unwound her cable and powered up her (also stolen) _sweet_ amp. She shivered at the hum as her fingers along the fretboard brought Pussy Warhead to life. At the top of the next measure she began to chop along, picking up on The Strokes easily enough-- it was one of their favorite warmups. Pausing occasionally to twist a tuning machine or crow at a particularly neat fill, she finished the song with aplomb.

“Don’t let me forget the cookies!” shouted Terezi, ears still ringing.

“What?” Vriska shouted back, plucking the low E string a few times and tuning it down slightly.

“Never mind!” replied Terezi. “Got anything you want to play?”

“Yeah, I’ve got something new too!” Vriska’s voice was normalizing, and she stopped fiddling with her strings. “Gimme something fast and loud, like a four-on-the-floor punk beat!” She flashed the shorter girl a fangy grin.

Terezi counted off at about one-twenty and began to motor along a simple but satisfying snare/hi-hat/bass drum rhythm, bringing her right stick down on the crash every couple measures. Vriska nodded along for a few bars, plucking along quietly to find a good note on which to start, then began to chop along like she had before. 

“ _This one’s called ‘better keep up!’”_ She shouted over the noise.

“What?” called Terezi.

“Never mind!” replied Vriska. “One! Two! One two three four!” Pussy Warhead roared like a chainsaw, and her steady 4/4 rhythm became a wild 3-chord drive. She began to headbang, sending her wild hair everywhere as she started singing in an impeccable Johnny Rotten growl.

“ _Gotta live fast and you gotta live free_

_Gotta live hard if you wanna love me_

_I don’t slow down baby I never quit_

_I don’t take breaks baby I don’t take shit_

  


“ _Think you’re hot stuff, think you’re all that_

_Think you’re so bad with your backwards hat_

_Think you got swagger, think you got cred_

_Try and test me, gonna find your ass dead_

  


“ _Better keep up, Better keep up_

_Better keep up ‘cause I don’t slow down_

_Better keep up, Better keep up_

_Better keep up ‘cause I don’t fuck around_

_Better keep up, Better keep up_

_Better keep up ‘cause I don’t slow down_

_Better keep up, Better keep up_

_Better keep up ‘cause I don’t fuck around_

  


“ _I’m undisputed, the cream of the crop_

_eighty and oh, line ‘em up watch ‘em drop_

_the point of this game is to win and that’s it_

_come at me bro if you think you’re legit_  


 

“ _Blood on my hands and a grin on my face_

_I could be yours if you follow my pace_

_No man alive can keep up with my speed_

_I wanna find out what color you bleed_

  


“ _Better keep up, Better keep up_

_Better keep up ‘cause I don’t slow down_

_Better keep up, Better keep up_

_Better keep up ‘cause I don’t fuck around_

_Better keep up, Better keep up_

_Better keep up ‘cause I don’t slow down_

_Better keep up, Better keep up_

_Better keep up ‘cause I don’t fuck around”_  


She began to wail in earnest on her Les Paul, a cacophony of squeals signaling Terezi to finish it up. 

After a wild four-count solo, Terezi smashed the crash cymbal a final time and thrust her sticks up in the air, devil horns held aloft. “Whoooo!”

“Not bad!” said Vriska, a little hoarsely, stretching her hands out. She ran a few fingers through her hair and cracked her neck.

Grinning, Terezi got up to get a beer from the kitchen. All they had left were a couple of cans of Negro Modelo they’d bought to subsist upon the time the water in their apartment went out and they were out of food. She grabbed a second one for Vriska. She noticed the oven light on and remembered her cookies, but a quick glance through the window told her they still weren’t done.

Settling back on the drum throne, she cracked open the frosty can and held it up to Vriska, who clinked hers on the rim. “To Satan!” She cooed.

“Hail Satan!” Vriska laughed back. She drank about half the can, then put it down on her amp and began to finger at the high strings. “So I was thinking of putting a solo in it, like before the second chorus, something like this,” she continued, playing a rapid progression of notes at about two-thirds the tempo of the song they’d just played. 

“I like it!” said Terezi, bobbing her head. “Were my fills good, or did you have anything else in mind?”

“No, they were great! But you could hit the crash more, give it more of a late 70’s Punk sound…”

The musicians continued in this way for a few minutes, giving each other notes and comparing ideas to form the perfect Punk song around Vriska’s lyrics. After working out all the kinks they could think of, they played it again. Vriska’s guitar was on point, shredding angrily through the Terezi’s driving beats. They coordinated on an eight-count ending this time, and smashing out the final two eighth notes they both began to laugh.

“Awesome!” yelled Vriska.

“You were on fire!” Terezi called back. “Nice fretwork on the solo!”

Vriska nodded, picked up her can of beer, downed it, and gave a satisfied belch. 

“Hey, speaking of fire, what smells like burning?” she asked, tilting her head quizzically.

Terezi bolted upright. “Shit! My cookies!”

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

“That’s everything!” Vriska said as she heaved her amp into the bed of her pickup truck. Locking the tailgate in place, she took a moment to admire the clever scissor-and-sharpiework that transformed the “T O Y O T A” into a much more appealing “T 8 Y 8 T A”. Dusting off her hands she walked to the driver’s side door, where Terezi was checking a list.

“Cables?” asked the short-haired girl.

“Check!”

“Picks?”

“Double-check!”

“Cover charge money?”

“Che- _fuck_ I knew I forgot something!” Vriska sighed and headed back inside. Terezi went through the bed of the truck to make sure her keyboard and all its components were accounted for-- she had learned the hard way not to bring her whole drum kit to an open mic, and anyway _shitty_ thoughher keyboard might be it did have a couple of decent drum voices she could use instead.

Once they were on the road with Vriska’s pirated copy of _Them Crooked Vultures_ blasting on her stolen aftermarket stereo, they began to discuss their set. Fifteen minutes was enough time for three or four songs, and they had several times that worth of good material. Vriska wanted to play some of her more punk-leaning compositions, but Terezi argued _Fucking On Fire_ , brilliant social commentary though it was, might not be appropriate for a small coffee shop whose main clientele would be liberal feminist college students.

“Wait, so you’re saying…”

“Yeah, I don’t think they’d be too receptive to lines like ‘ _Open your furnace ‘cause my poker is ready’_.

“What if I played it acoustic?”

“ _Vriska._ ”

“Okay, okay! Still, it’s nice to know that there’ll be girls in the audience.”

They arrived at the venue after agreeing on a few strong choices that leaned towards the unoffensive and more musically complex-- Terezi’s, in other words. Beanmotifs was a local joint that had been around since the Eighties. While coffee was its main trade they had a small bar as well that opened in the evenings, which served the dual purpose of making Open Mic Night tolerable and ridding the place of everyone under drinking age. The smaller Troll checked in with the owner of the cafe, who informed them they’d be playing second and encouraged them to get their equipment staged to set up. They spent the entirety of the first singer’s set lugging their shit from the truck to a spot beside the stage. They exchanged nervous grins when they were announced.

Vriska hauled her amp onstage, plugged it in, and connected her Les Paul. Terezi set up her keyboard stand in practiced motions and plugged in her keyboard. She powered it on, poked one of the memory buttons, and selected a drum track she’d recorded during an earlier session. The electronic-sounding beats-- steady 16th notes on the hi-hat at about 100 bpm with snare on the 2 and 4, nothing fancy-- flowed steadily from the board’s stereo speakers. She couldn’t afford a keyboard amp, and the venue wasn’t that big, anyway. Adjusting the second mic to hang in front of her on its arm stand, she nodded at her partner.

Vriska stepped up to the mic. “What’s up, we’re the Scourge Sisters. This one’s called _Honest_ , and you’re all gonna like it.” She took a step back amid tentative clapping from the twenty or so audience members, and began to pick a simple, gentle rhythm in time with the drum track. 

Terezi joined in on the keyboard’s piano voice after four measures, providing Vriska rhythmic, low-octave chords to compliment her fingerpicking, and in her dusky alto she began to sing.

  
  
_“Last thing I ever want to be_

_is dishonest with myself_

_but they way you make me feel lately_

_it’s like I’m someone else_

_‘cause I’ve never seen so bright before_

_I’ve never heard so clear_

_I’ve never laughed so hard before_

_as I do when you are near”_  


Supplementing her low chords with fingerwork a couple octaves up, Terezi smiled as Vriska began fingerpicking triads along the rhythm Terezi had told her simple single notes would suffice for. Never one to settle for second-best, not Vriska. Well OK then.

  
_“Last thing I ever want to be_

_is dishonest with you_

_but they way you make me feel lately_

_is like I’m someone new_

_‘cause I’ve never been so proud before_

_now that you’re by my side_

_and I’ve never been so brave before_

_I never need to hide_

  
  
_“And I used to be afraid_

_of what the mirror would show me_

_why did you want to know me_

_I didn’t know myself_

_And I used to be alone_

_until you came and saved me_

_my baby you’re amazing_

_and I want no one else”_

_  
_

Terezi and Vriska took turns soloing for a few measures, Vriska happily hopping up and down and churning out a few choice power chords. Her long curls were flying, turning green and blue and red in the glow of the stage lighting. Terezi usually stood pretty much still onstage, the yin to Vriska’s yang, but even she couldn’t help tapping her foot and bobbing her head to Vriska’s raucous guitar. When it was her turn she banged out some rapid-fire ragtime chords at a steady sixteenth-note rhythm, filling the room with lush sound and earning a grin from the taller girl. 

“Bring it home!" The guitarist shouted.

 

_“Last thing I ever want to be_

_is dishonest at all_

_‘cause they way you make me feel, my love_

_is like I’m ten feet tall_

_and though I used to be afraid_

_and hide my face in shame_

_With you I never have to lie_

_to anyone again_  


  
__

__

  
_“And I used to be afraid_

_of what the mirror would show me_

_why did you want to know me_

_I didn’t know myself_

_And I used to be alone_

_until you came and saved me_

_my darling you’re amazing_

_and I want no one else”_  


The audience applauded as Vriska’s guitar led them out, perhaps a little more enthusiastically than usual. Vriska turned slightly and grinned at Terezi, who gave her a thumbs-up. “Thank you,” she said into the mic. “That was written by the lovely and talented miss Terezi Pyrope, behind me on the keyboard. Back off, bitches, she’s mine.” The audience laughed and more than a few whistled.Not wanting to waste the crowd’s attention, the long-haired girl quickly introduced the second song and the Scourge Sisters’ set continued.

  
  


 

After the set was over, the stage was cleared and the next singer went on, Vriska nudged Terezi’s side. “Well, that was pretty good, right? I mean, really fuckin’ decent!”

“I was really good! Your guitar could use some work, girl,” she grinned, nudging back. The two sidled up to the bar and took a pair of stools in the middle. They were about to order drinks when a voice like a dripping icicle interrupted them.

“Barman, if you’d be so kind as to ignore any objections from these ladies, I’d enjoy a round of strawberry daiquiris. That’d be four in all, my partner is freshening up.” 

“Sure thing, Ms. Lalonde,” replied the young, pierced bartender, who dropped the drink he’d been working on and set himself to scooping ice immediately. The Scourge Sisters whipped around, agog.

“Lalonde?” squeaked Terezi.

“ _Rose_ Lalonde?” spluttered Vriska.

“The very same,” she replied, running a pale hand through her pale hair, “and if I’m not mistaken, you’d be… Terezi Pyrope and Vriska Serket. Having adopted the moniker ‘The Scourge Sisters’, you’ve been terrorizing coffee shops since two-thousand-and-nine, hoping to land an opportunity for stardom. I read your wikipedia page. Ladies, an opportunity has landed.” Rose Lalonde, the famed New York native, was standing behind the pair of rolls and smirking slightly. Vriska hadn’t seen her in the audience, not had Terezi heard that she’d be travelling-- as far as anyone knew she was still in Manhattan recording a “secret project” and ducking any and all media attention. How she had ended up in _this_ cafe, for _their_ performance, was anyone’s guess.

“Miss Lalonde, you don’t know how much this means--” began Terezi.

“That’s absurd, of course I do. You think I never played open mics? Anyway, the long and short of it is I’ve founded a label, and am searching for talented musicians to fill out my-- oh my, that was certainly quick.” She looked past the girls to the neat row of cheery-looking drinks on the bar. She dug through her tasteful purse, withdrew a pink notecase, and retrieved a fifty-dollar bill. Placing it on the bar, she motioned for the girls to grab their drinks and follow her. She then proceeded to the darkest, most remote table in the cafe.

“Don’t worry about the lighting, my friend will be joining us shortly-- I hope; she’s been in there some time now. Anyway, her sparkling personality more than makes up for the gloom. Also she glows in the dark.”

Terezi and Vriska exchanged a long, uneasy glance. “So,” Vriska said determinedly, “uh, you were saying about looking for talented musicians to fill you out-- I mean, fill out your-- um--”

“ _Roster_ , Miss Serket, Yes. You two fit the bill quite well for an Alternative sort of thing… Not that I’d be imposing any sort of creative restrictions on you in the slightest. Tonight, I simply wanted to see if you were interested in a chance at what passes for _success_ in the industry these days. We can discuss what kind of position would be mutually satisfactory at some later date.”

“We’ll do it,” replied Terezi with finality, grinning. 

“We’ll satisfy you! Any position you want us in!” Vriska almost shouted.

“Oh my, have the negotiations really been progressing _that_ smoothly?” a new voice asked, from behind the trolls. They turned to see the speaker.

Kanaya Maryam strolled over to the table, casting a milky light on the trio that warped and glinted off their barely-touched drinks. She moved with an elegance and grace borne of discipline and poise. Smoothing her skirts, she smiled at them with jade-painted lips. “I really didn’t think we were going to be _that_ kind of label. Or at least, anyone besides _we two_.” She took Rose’s hand in her ivory-white one and squeezed it gently.

“My darling, you’re being less subtle than even the esteemed Miss Serket here. I suppose ‘keeping it on the down-low’ has the opposite meaning in Alternian as well?”

“Same meaning, different execution. So after all this hypothetical _satisfying_ and _positioning_ takes place, what do we end up with? Two new musicians, I hope?”

“Indeed, and such _lovely_ ones at that. This is really going to work, my dear.” Rose smiled warmly at the glowing troll-- a rainbow drinker?-- and then looks back at the Sisters. “Our label-- as of now yet to be named-- will feature only female musicians and administrative staff. Kanaya here is my partner in this endeavor and every other, as well as a talented producer and multi-instrumentalist.”

Terezi stood and extended a hand. “Wow, it’s an honor-- I’m a big fan! I’ve got to say though, that video, I mean the way it was filmed, I guess I just didn’t know you were--”

“Among the undead? A living night-light? I get that a lot, don’t worry yourself about it. _Charmed_ , Miss Pyrope.” Kanaya replies, shaking her hand gently. Vriska only stares.

“So, you two-- When you say _partners_ , what are we talking here?” asked Vriska, between sips of her Daiquiri. “I can never follow these human relationship terms.”

“To borrow your own words, Miss Serket, it means ‘back off, bitches, she’s mine,’” said Rose, earning a chuckle from Terezi and another squeeze from Kanaya, who adopted a put-upon look.

“Tonight is Thursday, so how about the four of us have dinner tomorrow night and discuss the intricacies of this arrangement. Kanaya will contact you with the specifics. That should give you enough time to quit your jobs and update your Facebook pages, I think? I’d love to dally, but it’s getting dark out and Kanaya here simply can’t take the night for too long. I bid you both congratulations and a good evening.”

The Sisters both stood up. “Thank you so much, Miss Lalonde--” Terezi says.

The human stood, quickly followed by her partner. “‘Rose’ will do just fine, and I think you’ll find you are most welcome. Ladies,” she said, and hand in hand with Kanaya she strode out into the dusky evening.

Terezi turned to Vriska. “Okay, did that really just happen?”

Vriska didn’t move in the slightest. “I’m going to fuck her hairband off.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the long delay. Hopefully I'll be updating this a lot more frequently from now on. Follow me at http://lionofjudah613.tumblr.com/ for excerpts, quotations and other Indiestuck tidbits!


	3. Chapter 3

“God I can’t believe I sounded like such a tool!” moaned Terezi for the third time.  
“Would you chill? You’re making me remember you sounding like a tool, and it was so embarrassing!”  
“I can’t tell if you’re trying to help or not, but either way it’s not helping, Vriska,” Terezi sulked. “I mean, I was starstruck, you know? You don’t just… meet Rose Lalonde every day, let alone get offered a record contract at her weird kind-of-lesbian hipster-commune. God, I bet everyone who works there has a keffiyeh! Do we need to buy keffiyehs?”  
“Ok, seriously ‘Rezi, shut up for a second. Let’s go over the facts.” They’d reached their apartment building and Vriska slid her truck into a spot decently close to the side entrance. She turned off the truck. “One: Rose Lalonde gave us a fucking record contract. Two: She gave us the contract even despite you acting like a bit of a tool and me practically drooling all over her and her girlfriend. Three: You didn’t ruin anything! So stop worrying about it. Oh, and four through eight are all we rocked the fuck out of open mic night, trufax.” She climbed out and clunked the door shut behind her.  
“I guess it’s like, I’ve just never been confident around people, you know? I just overcompensate and it’s like if there was anything I was genuinely good at I wouldn’t be so freaked out about people. I’d know what to do. But besides playing keyboards and drums, what have I even got? ”  
“I know something you’re good at,” said Vriska, hefting her amp out of the truck bed. “You’re good at being my matesprit.”  
“Thanks, Vriska,” Terezi said. She hoped into the truck bed to start gathering her stuff. “You’re a pretty great matesprit too.”  
Once the pair made it inside with all their equipment, Terezi dropped her gear in the general vicinity of her drums, then headed to the attached kitchen to get a beer. “Want a terrible cold one?” she called to Vriska.  
“Sure!” Vriska called back. She dropped her gear in a pile to deal with in the morning and began unlayering her bundles of clothes. “Look, I think we still have to talk about what you were saying earlier.”  
“Do we really? I kinda don’t want to. I mean, I don’t like thinking about it, but I like talking about it even less.”  
“That’s why, get it? Like, everyone who meets you knows you’re this smart, funny, talented girl, but you never fucking see it. You’re always like ‘bluh bluh, dropped out of college, no skills’ but it’s not true! It’s so not true.”  
“You’re just being nice,” Terezi said, popping the bottles open on the chewed-up counter lip. She crossed the room and handed one to Vriska.  
“That’s what I’m talking about! I’m not just being nice, I’m telling the truth! You could teach most of the courses you never took, and anyway why would you want to be a lawyer when you can be a rock star? If you’d stayed, if your scholarship hadn’t been cancelled, you’d never have met me, and you wouldn’t be on the verge of a career in music! You got lucky, hon!”  
“That is true, I guess.”  
“Imagine all that talent going to waste. Imagine the world never seeing you perform, ‘cause you’re stuck running errands and fetching coffee for crusty old geezers all day. Is that what you would have wanted? Is it?”  
“No, Vris, but you’re--”  
“Now, I’m not assuming anything, that’s just how it is. For the first few years, anyway. And anyway, you can put your rad lawyer skills to use tomorrow when we’re negotiating contracts. Don’t forget, she asked us, not the other way around! You can probably negotiate all kinds of cool shit!”  
Terezi grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Maybe I was starting with the end in mind when I decided to go to law school. And this is really cool-- I have a really good feeling about it. Like, you know, it’s something we were meant to do.”  
“That’s the spirit!” Vriska laughed. She clinked her bottle against Terezi’s and swigged the thing down in one bitter pull. “God, this shit is awful. First thing we do when we get paid, buy better beer.”

 

 

The next morning, the pair awoke to the simultaneous buzzing of both their cell phones. Texts, from the same number, a 212 area code. _This Is Kanaya. We Would Be Most Glad To Receive You For Drinks At ‘The Happy Ending’ on the corner of Clinton St. and Collins Blvd. at 6:30 This Evening. Kisses_  
“ Who the fuck signs their text messages with ‘kisses’? Or at all, even?!” muttered Vriska, rubbing her eyes. “Despite that, I’m slightly aroused.”  
“‘The Happy Ending’? God, that doesn’t sound seedy or anything.” Terezi mumbled. “I wonder if it’s a strip club?”  
“Hopefully!” Vriska said, climbing out of bed and stretching. Terezi absently watched as her lithe muscles bunched and slackened. “Hell, I’m just glad last night wasn’t a dream. I was kind of afraid I’d wake up and it would all be my imagination.”  
“Yeah…” said Terezi, shrugging off her tank top and pulling her work clothes off their hangers. The boring corporate coffee shop where she’d worked since her college days was not the kind of place one looked forward to a long shift at. Despite that, the knowledge it might be her last shift was more than a little motivational.  
They took turns showering, got ready for work, and breakfasted on coffee and bagels with peanut butter. A sense of nervous excitement pervaded the ride to work, and when Vriska dropped Terezi off at Ubiquitous Starbucks #409872 with a peck on the lips, on the way to her shift at Ubiquitous Gamestop #601384, she lingered a second before closing the door. “It’s really happening. We’re gonna be rock stars.”  
“Damn straight. I’m just pissed it didn’t happen sooner! Give ‘em hell.”  
“You too, Vriska. Suffer not a noob to live!” She shut the truck door and went inside.  
Eight insufferable hours later, dusk was breaking across the cloudy sky and the air was just starting to take a turn for the chilly. Vriska, freshly in a biker jacket and vintage jeans, pulled up to the lot to pick up Terezi, who’d changed into a peacoat and slacks. Handing Vriska a steaming cup of java, Terezi climbed into the truck and grinned. “I told ‘em I might not be coming back.”  
“I did something like that at Gamestop too.”  
“What do you mean, ‘something like that’”?  
“Well, remember you were saying you wanted to buy a PS3 to play Skyrim, ‘cause your computer couldn’t handle it?” Vriska jerked her head to a box-shaped bundle in the bed of the truck, covered by a couple of quilts.  
“Oh, Vriska, you didn’t.”  
“That’s what the cops’ll think too, when all the evidence points to Captain Pervclaws, If the manager even bothers to investigate it!” Vriska grinned. One of her co-workers had been caught making lascivious comments and even an actual grab or two to at some of the female customers at Vriska’s Gamestop. When he turned his nerdrage-fueled desperation on Vriska, everyone knew it would only be a matter of time before she got him back.  
Terezi cackled. “Might as well go out with a bang, huh? But hey, I thought we weren't going to quit yet.”  
“I changed my mind as soon as I walked into that shithole. Anyway, game face! After this meeting, none of that is going to matter!”  
One fistbump was dutifully exchanged, then Vriska threw her worn-out truck into gear and they pulled out of the parking lot. Along the way, jamming to [The War On Drugs](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ErQH5-1ot4w) and sipping their coffee, the two girls couldn’t stop grinning-- partly out of nerves and partly out of excitement.  
When they arrived at the little club, Vriska was the first to speak. “Okay, I promise not to make a pass at either of them if you promise to keep cool and not say anything mushy or weird.”  
“I think I can manage that. Thanks again for last night-- what you said really helped me sort through how I feel about all this! It’s like, all I needed was one chance, and I never got it. But here it is. Right inside this club.”  
Vriska squeezed her hand. “Damn straight. Let’s do it.”  
The pair entered the club. They reeled at the decor-- heavy red-tinged light and thumping bass overtook their senses. To their left was a bar, occupied at the moment by four or five people, and there were red-velvet booths all along the right wall. Terezi recognized Kanaya among those seated on the barstools, dressed in a flatteringly form-fitting black dress and sipping a vodka martini, looking at the door. Upon seeing them, she stood up.  
“Welcome! I’m so pleased to see you had no trouble finding the location.”  
“Yeah, no problem at all,” Vriska replied. “What are you drinking? I just got off a shift at Gamestop. If I hadn’t had to drive I’d be drunk already.”  
Kanaya smiled. “Just a vodka martini, I like to keep it simple. If you would please follow me, we’ve reserved a private room for the occasion. This particular institution used to be a massage parlor before it was shut down after the police discovered the sort of illicit behavior that took place within its walls. Naturally, once it closed, a bidding war began for the already-well-known location, and it’s been a series of bars since.”  
“Oooh, cool!” Vriska chuckled. “I was hoping for a strip club, but that’s almost better.”  
The sisters followed Kanaya through a hallway into a room divided off by a hanging bead curtain. Rose Lalonde was reclining on a red velvet sofa, wearing a short dress of some shiny material. What color it was wasn’t obvious, since the room’s lighting was pure red and caused her pale skin and hair to shine with a supernatural crimson tint; the word “demonic” came to mind. She was smiling slightly and twirling a glass of white wine. “The Scourge Sisters. How wonderful to have you both to myself.”  
Terezi gulped. “How do you do, Miss Lalonde?”  
Vriska nudged her in the side. “Hey,” she said, leaning against the doorway laconically. “‘Sup.”  
Kanaya frowned slightly, her pale face glowing pink in the odd light. “Yes, well, we’ve all been introduced so I think it would be best to get right to it.”  
“Hold on a sec, love,” Rose began, leaning forward. She took a sip of wine and put the glass down on the small table to the side of her couch. The fluidity of her motions suggested she’d had a couple already. “This is a joyful occasion. Let’s talk a bit before we get down to business.”  
“Very well.” Kanaya said a bit sulkily.  
“So, tell me, Vriska, Terezi. Everywhere I look in this town all I see is chain restaurants and big box stores. Where does your individuality come from? How did you come to be here? How did you meet?”  
Vriska responded first. “I can’t speak for Terezi, but my inspiration comes from hating this place so fuckin’ much. It’s hard not to want to rebel!”  
“Speaking personally,” said Terezi, “I get motivation from other music, and people I meet. Write what you know, you know?”  
Rose nods. “Wonderful.”  
“When we met, we both considered music a hobby. I played the piano when I was young, and even though Vriska didn’t pick up her first guitar until she was eight sweeps old, well… You’ve already heard her.”  
“She is something, isn’t she?” Rose turned her dark gaze to the taller troll and smiled.  
“Anyway, we met under rather odd circumstances and didn’t realize we both enjoyed playing music until a bit later. By then we knew we’d be together through thick and thin, so forming a band was an obvious choice.”  
“True love?” Rose retrieved her glass and began to twirl it again, turning it so far sideways it nearly spilled and inhaling deeply through her nose.  
“The troll word is ‘matespritship’, yes. You can tell when you find it.”  
“I read the keyboardist and drummer of maniThreshed destiny are matesprits. Is this common in Troll musical partnerships? Forgive me if I pry, I’m ever so slightly to drunk to give much consideration to interspecies niceties.”  
Vriska chuckled. “And here I am, completely sober-- not fair! Terezi, isn’t there a law about that?”  
“Now that you mention, I’m pretty sure there is. Or maybe it only applies to law school parties. But to answer your question, it’s no more common than in Human music. There’s been a few, like John and Yoko or the married couple in The Arcade Fire.”  
“Fair enough. So, these circumstances?”  
“Well,” begins Vriska, “When matespritship happens, you just kind of know it. This was when we were both about nine-and-a-half sweeps, Terezi was going to law school and I was making a living delivering pizza and selling a bit of pot on the side. She was having a rough night-- bombed a test or something-- and couldn’t find it in her heart to heat up some noodles. I still remember her order, she just said ‘give me a big-ass pizza with everything you got that’s red on it.’ I ended up delivering the pie to her, and as soon as I opened the door, I could just tell.”  
Terezi grinned. “We just looked at each other for a second, and I forgot I was hungry or depressed or anything. One look at Vriska and I felt like everything was just A-OK. I invited her in--”  
“Which was way against the rules, by the way,” added Vriska, “but like I gave a fuck.”  
“She called her boss, said there’d been an emergency, and we just talked all night. I don’t remember what we talked about, it probably doesn’t matter. A week later, she moved in. I dropped out of college not too much later, if Vriska hadn’t been around I don’t know how I’d have made it. It was a dark period in my life.”  
“I’m always telling ‘Rezi not to be so hard on herself, but she’s incorrigible. She’ll find something wrong no matter what.”  
By this time the girls’ cocktails had arrived, and Rose had drained her wine glass. She crossed her pale ankles and leaned forward. “How beautiful. Sometime I’ll have to tell you the story of how I met Kanaya. For now, though, I believe it is time to get down to business. Darling?”  
Kanaya withdrew a pair of small binders from an attaché case on the side table. “This contract is for two years, in which we hope for one album and one tour. Your wages will compensate your boarding expenses and a stipend for food. We can’t provide you with as much as we’d like to in terms of an advance, but based on your current earnings, I think you’ll find this figure quite sufficient. Naturally, we expect a minimum creative output-- not in any solid figure but rather progress towards creating an album within a reasonable timeframe.”  
Terezi looked at the contract. The numbers were quite decent, or maybe it just seemed that way compared to her bimonthly minimum-wage paychecks. They’d be able to buy sweet new equipment and good beer to spare! Then she and Vriska would be making essentially double their current wage to simply stay home and write music all day.  
“I realize the low-advance-plus-monthly-paycheck paradigm is more than slightly unorthodox, but please understand-- we are operating on a very modern business model and simply don’t have the cash available to hand you a six-figure advance. And as we all know, these things take time; this way you’ll be well taken care of until it’s time to step into the studio.”  
“Speaking of,” Terezi said, “when we want to record, will you have to fly all the way out here again or are we coming to the city?”  
“Actually,” Kanaya said, “We were kind of hoping you two would consider moving to New York. We have a solid foundation there, in terms of connections and friends-- studios, venues, publications and whatnot. It would be an adjustment, but you might find it quite an improvement from… this place.” The words dripped with polite disdain.  
“We’d have to talk about it…” Terezi began.  
“Fuck it, let’s do it.” Vriska said. Turning to Terezi, she continued. “How much longer do you want to stay here anyway? Nothing but bad fuckin’ memories. We found each other, let’s cut our losses and move on.”  
“...Guess there’s nothing to talk about. Alright, we’ll see you in New York!”  
“What?” Rose, who had until this point seemed to be asleep, sat up. “You’re leaving already?” she blinked slowly, then slumped over again.  
“Hmm, it seems it’s somebody’s bedtime. I supposed I’ll be seeing you two soon, and may I just say it’s been marvelous and we’re overjoyed to have you two on board.”  
“Likewise!” said Terezi. “Not to sound pathetic, but we both feel this is the best thing that’s ever happened to us.”  
“We won’t let you down! The Scourge Sisters will be selling millions, you wait and see!” Vriska crowed.  
Kanaya guided Rose to the door and looked over her shoulder. Her face glowed crimson in the hazy light. “For your sake, I hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, this is all that's probably ever gonna get written for this story. I don't know what to say, I just kinda lost steam on it. Thanks for reading and I'd encourage you to check out my Bondstuck series, which I'll be updating more frequently.


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